


Quicksand

by ohmyloki



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyloki/pseuds/ohmyloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty has a bad baking day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Why don't people ever write stories about Bitty's bad baking days? When he's bought everything he needs and cleared his schedule for a whole day, and he's going to try the new recipes that he's been gathering. Fun! But then the bread dough just doesn't rise. And the cookies burn. And the scones are half raw inside. And then he's like "Hey, I'll make a pie. At /least/ I can do that," but the dough is melting because the room's too warm from all the baking. His scream can be heard down the block.
> 
> (this is unbeta'd)

Bitty doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s no stranger to baking accidents–but it’s usually a lid not being all the way on when he goes to add a dash to the bowl, or maybe being in such a rush that he leaves a pan far too close to the edge of the counter and bumps it with his hip later on. **  
**

But he can’t explain what’s happening to him now. It’s like he’s been cursed and everything he touches is doomed to an inedible fate. He can’t blame it on trying out a new recipe (though even that would be a reach, Bitty hasn’t been bested by a new recipe since he was thirteen), because everything he’s tried to bake so far today has been tested, tried-and-true for months if not years.

First, the bread that Jack requested for his games next week doesn’t rise.

Then, the cookies Bitty promised Alicia burn. Burn. Bitty can’t remember the last time he has honest-to-god burned something. He has to sit down and focus on breathing for five minutes before he can gather up the courage to apologize to Liza for putting her through that.

Finally, Bitty tries to make scones for breakfast the next day. At first, they look perfect. The ideal shade of golden brown and the smell in the kitchen is heavenly.

Then he bites into one.

He spits out the half-raw dough and lets out a noise of pure frustration before throwing the entire plate of scones into the sink, ready to tear his own hair out.

Fine, he thinks. Fine. He’ll just make a pie. Pies are easy. Pies are simple. Pies won’t betray him in his time of need.

Only… the oven has been all day and the butter has been sitting on the counter all afternoon. He spends ten minutes desperately trying to put together some kind of crust, but there’s nothing for it. The texture if wrong and nothing Bitty does can unring the bell of melted butter. Bitty carefully unties and removes his apron, folding it and laying it gently on the counter.

He takes a deep breath.

Then another.

And then does the only thing he can think of, and screams with all his heart, fists clenched almost painfully at his side.

When he opens his eyes, they catch on the fridge. His post-it notes cover the gleaming metal surface like feathers, overlapping and curling slightly at the bottom. The first time Bitty saw it, when the collection was far smaller, it made him weak in the knees seeing how much they meant to Jack. Now, his ugly scrawling ‘I believe in you’s just seem mocking.

Tears well up in Bitty’s eyes and he turns away, stalking out of the kitchen, not bothering to clean up his mess. He goes straight into Jack’s bedroom, slipping out of his sweater and jeans as he walks, leaving them crumpled up on the floor, and slides under the sheets. He curls up into a ball under the blanket, pulls a pillow over his head, and shuts his eyes.

It takes him awhile but eventually his breathing evens out and his muscles relax enough to let him drift. He’s not sure how long he’s in there, in that place somewhere between awake and asleep, before he hears the front door being unlocked.

The sound of keys being tossed into the bowl by the door follows soon after. Bitty can almost track Jack’s movement around the apartment by ear alone.

“Bitty?”

Silence. Bitty can’t find the energy in him to call out in response.

“Bitty?” Jack asks again, concern in his voice. Jack must have seen the mess he left in the kitchen. Bitty never leaves a kitchen in worse condition than he found it.

There’s a soft sound from the door and Bitty slants his eyes open.

Jack leans against the doorway, his eyebrows drawn up in worry. “Bitty? Is everything okay?”

“No,” Bitty says into the blanket, voice barely above a whisper.

Jack doesn’t move. He looks at Bitty with unease written all over his face, but he stands there, as if he’s unsure of what to do.

Then Bitty, tears welling up in his eyes, sniffles, and Jack crosses the room in a flash.

He gets onto the bed, moving until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, hip near Bitty’s head. Jack gently takes the pillow off Bitty’s head and looks down at him. Bitty knows he must be a hot mess, his face gets red and blotchy the moment he even thinks about crying.

“Oh, Bits.” Jack says. It’s so gentle it nearly breaks Bitty’s heart.

Strong fingers card through his hair, and Bitty shifts around until he’s got his head resting on Jack’s thigh, sliding an arm under Jack’s leg and hugging it to his body.

“I had a bad day,” Bitty says quietly.

“I can see that,” Jack replies.

Bitty sighs, losing himself in the gentle workings of Jack’s fingers on his scalp.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jack asks lightly.

Bitty makes an intelligible noise into the denim of Jack’s jeans before he speaks. “Nothing I did worked today. Nothing–I couldn’t even bake a gosh darn pie.”

Jack hums in response.

“I just–I feel so useless.” Bitty admits.

“Have you ever heard of quicksand?” Jack asks.

Bitty’s eyebrows draw together at the unexpectedness of the question. “I had more than my fair share of nightmares about it after watching The Princess Bride.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “No, not that kind. Not quite.”

Bitty wiggles closer to Jack, Jack smiles softly.

“Then I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bitty says.

After a moment, Jack responds. “There are some days I can’t find the back of the net even when it’s three feet away.”

Bitty twists his neck just enough to peer up at Jack with a look of disbelief. Jack’s not looking at him, though, he’s staring straight ahead deep in thought.

“There are days when,” Jack pauses, searching for the words, “–when I’m playing and everything is going fine. Maybe not great, but it’s not bad. But then I’ll miss a wide-open shot. And then maybe I’ll break my stick, and then it’s one thing after another after another and I try to stop it, to fight back, but the harder I fight, the deeper I sink until… Until it feels like I can’t move, like I can’t breathe, like I’m in over my head and I’ll never be able to crawl back out–” Jack’s hand quits moving and Bitty feels him take a deep breath. “–Like quicksand.”

Another breath and Jack’s fingers resume combing through Bitty’s hair.

“You help.” Jack says, matter-of-factly. “Not–it’s something I have to get myself out of, and I do. But thinking of you, knowing you believe in me. It helps.”

Bitty, unable to think of what to say to that, just holds on to Jack a little tighter. After a moment of silence, Jack whispers, “I believe in you, too, Bits.”

“Oh, Jack,” Bitty says. His heart is too full and he can’t help but turn in Jack’s lap enough to wrap a hand around the back of Jack’s neck and pull him into a kiss. It’s long and sweet, but it’s an awkward position and before long Jack starts laughing into Bitty’s mouth. Bitty pulls away just enough for Jack to say, “Ow.”

Bitty smiles up at him and shifts until he’s off of Jack’s lap entirely. Jack takes the hint and gets under the covers, turning to pull Bitty towards him.

Bitty scoots in closer, resting his head against Jack’s chest, listening to him breathe. He feels Jack’s chin on the top of his head. Bitty sighs.

It was a bad day. But here, wrapped in the circle of Jack’s arms, Bitty thinks that maybe tomorrow will be better.

* * *

Bitty goes back to the Haus a couple of days later. He eats dinner with the team, bakes a pie that comes out perfect, and then finally heads upstairs to unpack. Dirty clothes get tossed into the hamper, and the clothes he didn’t end up wearing get hung back up in the closet (he always ends up needing only a fraction of the clothing he takes with him when he visits Jack).

By the time he’s done, he’s got a few hours before Jack is supposed Skype. Having run out of other ways to procrastinate, he decides to at least glance over his French homework.

Bitty grabs his laptop, and sits back on his bed. He opens it up and freezes, eyes wide.

There, beneath the keyboard, in the place he usually leaves notes and reminders to himself, is a yellow post-it. He runs his finger along the bottom of it, flattening it where it’s begun to curl, and smiles at Jack’s handwriting.

Bitty carefully peels it off of his laptop and presses it to the wall next to his bed, amidst the photos of his friends and family. He’ll have to remember to tape it in place later, but it should hold for now.

And, for the rest of the night, Bitty finds his eyes drawn to it. Every single time he finds himself filled with a love he never believed possible. All because of four simple words.

“ _I believe in you._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. heck yeah i took an idea from 'the replacements'.
> 
> 2\. ‘liza’ is short for elizabeth (which is long for ‘betsy’). bitty is very particular about his oven names.


End file.
